


Waiting

by partypaprika



Category: Hockey RPF, Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She’s in the middle of playing a game on her phone when a girl that’s a few years older walks in, her bag hefted up on her shoulder and her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Jesus Christ, that’s Hilary Knight, Amanda realizes after a second. She instantly sits up taller.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>In which Amanda <i>really</i> doesn't need inopportune feelings for one of her teammates to complicate her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mazily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/gifts).



> For Mazily: I hope that you enjoy this (and I'm sorry that I couldn't fit in more actual hockey playing)!
> 
> A huge thank you to Y who held my hand, listened to me and then even beta-ed for me. An absolute winner of a friend.

When they make the formal roster announcement, the team is lined up; cameras filming from all angles, broadcasting live during the second intermission of the Winter Classic. Amanda, for her part, is beaming at the camera, trying to project an air of excitement and security that she feels anything but.

 

On Amanda’s right side, Lyndsey can’t seem to stop fidgeting, her elbow bumping into Amanda more than once. On Amanda’s left side, Hilary stands calm. During a weak moment at the beginning of the ceremony, Amanda snuck a look and saw that Hilary was beaming at the camera, a perfectly natural and happy expression on her face. Amanda had immediately turned her face back to the front and, as the pit in her stomach dropped a little further, promised herself that she would only look forward for the rest of the broadcast.

 

Rationally, Amanda knows that there is absolutely no reason for her to stress—the decision has already been made. She wouldn’t be standing here if they were going to suddenly change their minds about who was cut. But a large, horrible part of her brain points out that the team only gets 21 players on their roster. Wasting one of those spots on an injured player who may not ultimately recover quickly enough seems like a poor management decision.

 

Amanda keeps flashing back to her memories from four years ago, of that horrible meeting in the coach’s office, of flying home, her face a wet mess of tears, of the knowledge that she had failed. And so, even though Amanda keeps telling herself that she’s being ridiculous, the clenched feeling in her stomach says that Amanda’s name is going to be the only one that’s not announced into the microphone. That everyone else on the stage is going to Sochi while Amanda heads home.

 

Amanda couldn’t get herself to sleep last night—her thoughts racing around in the dark as she came up with a hundred or thousand different scenarios for how today could go. And now, as she waits for her name to be called (or for when it will be skipped), each minute of that exhaustion weighs on her. She wants this ceremony to be over, the announcement to be done so that the stress is done. So that Amanda can finally sleep or cry or maybe do both, instead of having anxiety and exhaustion wreak havoc inside of her.

 

They go down the roster, alphabetically, and after she says each name, Coach Stone allows a brief period of time for applause. With each pause, Amanda’s breathing ratchets up. By the time that Coach Stone announces “Lyndsey Fry” into the mic, Amanda’s pretty sure that she’s hyperventilating. Next to her, Lyndsey is smiling so hard it looks almost painful but Amanda can’t focus on anything other than controlling her own breathing and looking calmly out to the cameras.

 

Before she can embarrass herself or her team by, say, having a hysterical breakdown on national television, Coach Stone says “Amanda Kessel” and that’s it. Amanda’s heart stops for a second, the pit in her stomach rapidly unspooling and she can barely breathe, she’s so happy.

 

Finally, Amanda remembers her surroundings and looks into the nearest camera to give her best smile for her family watching from home as, for a brief moment, jubilation overwhelms the anxiety, pain, and frustration from the last few months.

 

“Hilary Knight.” Coach Stone continues on and Amanda swallows, all of her mixed feelings back in full strength. She forces herself to keep looking forward so that no small movement will betray her. Nothing will betray her at all.

 

 

When the roster announcement is finished, everyone high fives each other, chanting “U-S-A, U-S-A” before cheering. Amanda can’t stop smiling, but everything inside her feels weird and jumbled together. As soon as the cameras are off and the team scatters, she ducks out of the main room and into the hallways, turning into the first darkened conference room that she finds and closes the door behind her.

 

Amanda sits down on the table in the middle of room, intending to just breathe and collect herself for a moment, but as soon as she takes a deep breath, she lets out a huge sob.

 

She’s so surprised by herself, that for a moment, when the tears start falling, she only feels confused. But then her mind catches up and she’s so happy but so nervous, what if she’s not healthy in time or she is healthy but she lets the team down? And that’s not to mention that she’ll have to deal with the inescapable reality of navigating around Hilary for the next two months. That means two more months of not making eye contact with one of her teammates, except when they’re on the ice together. Two more months of awkward feigned politeness whenever they are interviewed together. Two more months of feeling like an absolute idiot because the coolest and funniest woman that Amanda knows doesn’t want to be around her at all. 

 

No. Amanda’s made the Olympic team. That’s all that matters, she tells herself. That she has a shot to give it her all and bring home the gold.

 

But, it’s too much to take in at once and Amanda’s thoughts keep oscillating on all ends of the spectrum, making it difficult to think coherently. Amanda’s in the middle of giving herself a mental pep-talk to pull it together when the door opens and Hilary comes in.

 

“Hey are you ok—oh god.” Hilary says, flipping on the lights. Amanda considers trying to pretend like she's ok, but she's almost positive that Hilary instantly saw an eyeful of Amanda’s red, blotchy face, now covered in mascara, thus negating any potential effort to say othewrise. The one small grace is that the presence of another person helps Amanda gain enough composure to temporarily halt her crying.

 

“I’m fine.” Amanda tries, her voice a little more than a whisper. Hilary snorts.

 

“Oh yeah, you look completely fine.” She says, but her tone is sympathetic. She walks slowly over to Amanda, as if she’s trying not to startle a wild animal, before sitting down on the table next to Amanda. Amanda eyes Hilary warily and starts to scoot away, overriding her natural inclination to move closer for the practical one telling her to hightail it.

 

Hilary freezes for a second, the hurt showing on her face before she pulls herself together. “I guess I deserve that.” She says finally. Hilary slowly reaches one of her hands up and places it on Amanda’s shoulder.

 

Amanda looks down at Hilary’s hand before slowly lifting her gaze up to Hilary’s face. Hilary looks so distressed and unhappy, and for a second, Amanda viciously thinks, good and is glad that at least Hilary is hurting as well. But then she just feels hollow and sad.

 

“Can I not act professionally for a second?” Hilary asked.

 

Amanda gets out a “You—“ and she’s not sure if she’s angry or sad or confused or some combination thereof. But before Amanda can get anything else out, Hilary leans in for a sideways hug, placing her arms all the way around Amanda and slowly bringing her in.

 

What little composure Amanda was able to pull together dissipates and she starts silently crying again.

 

“Hey now,” Hilary says soothingly, her mouth next to Amanda’s left ear. She places a chaste kiss high on Amanda’s cheekbone. She places another kiss at the juncture between Amanda’s jaw and neck. Amanda can’t help herself from leaning into Hilary, and Hilary maneuvers Amanda around so that they’re pressed together, chest to chest. Suddenly, it’s as if the weight in her stomach, the tenseness in her muscles, disappears.

 

Amanda laughs a little bit, she’s sure it’s somewhat hysterically, and then buries her face on Hilary’s shoulder. Hilary presses her face against Amanda’s hair and uses her free hand to thread her fingers through Amanda’s hair. Amanda has a million questions and angry lines that she had told herself that she would say if she ever decided to have a one on one with Hilary, but right now, she would rather just stay like this, here in the moment.

 

When Amanda’s finally calm, she pulls her head back and wipes her face with the inside of the jersey. “Sorry, Hil.” She says finally. “I didn’t mean to go uh…all emotional on you.”

 

Hilary gives her a lopsided smile. “I get it. It happens to the best of us. But, um, I know that you have no obligation to forgive me—but still, I want there to be—” She gestures in between the two of them. “Us. I don’t know what you think. But that’s what I think.”

 

Amanda gives Hilary a sharp look. “Are you planning on having a giant freak-out when we leave the room?” Amanda asks, the words out before she can control them.

 

“No.” Hilary says it calmly and confidently, meeting Amanda’s gaze. After a second, she leans in, her lips touching Amanda’s tentatively. Amanda freezes for a second before she closes her eyes and reciprocates, everything quickly slotting into space. Hilary’s hands stop carding through Amanda’s hair, instead now holding her firmly in place. Amanda’s on fire, and she can’t help herself as she nips at Hilary’s lower lip before diving back in for another deep kiss. Countless seconds later, they pull apart, both breathing heavily.

 

Hilary gives Amanda a giddy smile and then she presses her forehead against Amanda’s. “I guess I know the trick to making you feel better.” She says, laughing a little at her own joke. “You feeling ok?”

 

Amanda can’t stop the huge smile from forming on her face. “For the first time in a while, I think I am.”

 

 

 

It started with this:

 

 

 

Amanda settled back into the booth, unable to stop herself from laughing as what appeared to be half of the US National Women’s Team crowded onto the dance floor dancing to “Wake Me Up”. Some of them were clearly more rhythmically talented than others—hockey apparently didn’t parallel into dance floor abilities. At the opposite end of the booth, the lone other occupant, Hilary, gave Amanda a look like “what can you do?”—a quirked eyebrow and a wry grin.

 

Amanda made eye contact and smiled back, and, like a million times before, Amanda felt her stomach drop slightly. Normally, Amanda would have maybe made an exaggerated facial expression or rolled her eyes and they would have resumed chatting about the current NHL standings. But this time, Amanda couldn’t stop herself from staring back, some invisible, unmovable force, keeping her eyes firmly locked.

 

After a second, Hilary’s smile faded and her brows furrowed, but her gaze never wavered. Amanda unconsciously started to worry at her lip and Hilary looked down for a second at Amanda’s mouth.

 

Suddenly, Amanda found herself pushed back into the booth—she wasn’t sure if it was her side or Hilary’s, who made the first move, but they were both kissing each other, hungry and forcefully, as if they had a point to prove.

 

Hilary kept moving her hands, as if they couldn’t find a place to settle, each touch electric against Amanda’s skin. After wanting and craving something, anything from Hilary for so long, Amanda almost couldn’t believe it was happening. But each kiss felt like a brand and Amanda felt more alive than she felt any other time than when she was on ice, during a game.

 

When Amanda actually had to stop or she was going to pass out for oxygen deprivation, she pulled back, her head bumping against the vinyl booth behind her and tried to focus on breathing. She couldn’t help but notice that her hands had settled on Hilary’s waist while Hilary’s arms were currently bracketing Amanda’s head.

 

Hilary watched Amanda, her game day face on, betraying absolutely nothing. Amanda paused—if Hilary were to laugh this off or say that it had been a mistake or worse, that maybe Amanda was the worst kisser of all time, Amanda wasn’t sure that she could face Hilary or the team ever again.

 

“I…” She started to say, unsure of where she was planning on going. But before Amanda could get anything out, Hilary leaned in again, pressing a slow kiss against Amanda’s lips. Amanda leapt on it and this time when they pulled away, they were both smiling giddily, touching everywhere that they possibly could.

 

“We should probably get out of here.” Hilary said.

 

“Do you want to go back to my place?” Amanda asked, trying to go for seductive, although she was fairly certain that she only hit slightly whiny.

 

“I think that I could be amenable to that.” Hilary said, her lips dangerously close to Amanda’s. “Especially since we should probably get out of here before the rest of our team and/or the rest of the world sees us and gets photographic evidence.”

 

Oh, the rest of the team. Amanda looked over towards the dance floor guiltily. Half of her expected to find the team staring at them and pointing and laughing, or maybe taking pictures on their phones. But, no one had even looked over, everyone still dancing along to Avicii. Had so little time passed?

 

Hilary bit slightly at Amanda’s neck causing Amanda to jump slightly. “Earth to Kess—let’s get out of here? Or would you like to make out in front of everyone and most likely be mocked until eternity by our teammates?”

 

“Yes, let’s get out of here, that sounds like a great plan.” Amanda said. Hilary laughed and grabbed Amanda’s hand, lacing their fingers together, before pulling Amanda up and out of the booth. ‘

 

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” Hilary said conspiratorially. “At least before anyone else realizes that we’ve managed to escape the bill and leave it to the rest of our team.”

 

As they headed out of the bar, Amanda couldn’t help but stare down at their intertwined hands; Hilary’s thumb occasionally swiping over Amanda’s palm.

 

 

 

No, wait. It started earlier.

 

 

 

“Shots for the birthday girl!” Baylee shouts as she deposits five or six shots on the table. Amanda picks up the first one enthusiastically and kicks it back. In what clearly should be a worrying sign about her previous alcoholic consumption, there is only a faint burn as it went down. But, Amanda reasons, it is her birthday and if she wants to get absolutely plastered with her best friend, it is well within her rights.

 

Baylee picks up a shot and downs it as well, saluting Amanda. After she finishes, she scoots over towards Amanda and leans in conspiratorially.

 

“Alright, I know that you like someone. Who’s the new crush?”

 

Amanda freezes. “I do not have a new crush. I don’t have any crushes right now.”

 

Baylee snorts and pushes a shot towards Amanda. “Ok, new evening rules. Anytime you lie, you have to take a shot.”

 

“I am not lying!” Amanda protests. Baylee holds the shot in Amanda’s face.

 

“A: I know you’re lying because you think that you may be subtle, but you have shot down each person who’s tried to hit on you tonight—male or female. And there have been some really hot choices. B: shot, shot, shot, shot!” She calls until finally Amanda caves and downs the shot.

 

Amanda stands by her statement until the next shot, some nebulous amount of time later. “Ok. So it’s not that I have a crush per se,” she starts. “Just maybe a small amount of attraction. That’s totally normal! I definitely wouldn’t call it a crush.”

 

Baylee frowns over the tip of her colorful and exceedingly alcoholic cocktail. “Hmmm. That sounds suspiciously like a crush. Is it someone on one of your teams?”

 

Amanda turns bright red. “No. I don’t know why you would think that!”

 

Baylee hands Amanda another shot. “SHOT.” She says. Amanda gives it a painful look and then downs it. “Is it someone on our team? One of our illustrious gophers?”

 

Amanda wishes the floor would open up and consume her. “No—oh my god, it’s the national team. Are you happy now? I’m not telling you anything else.”

 

Baylee pulls herself up tall. “Oh! The national team—is it…the unmarried twin?”

 

Amanda grimaces. “I am not telling you anything else.”

 

“Jessie Vetter.” Amanda gulps down part of her drink.  “Although,” Baylee continues. “If you were going to go for a goalie, I feel like Molly Schaus would be the way to go—she’s so feisty and funny.”

 

Amanda ignores her.

 

“What about Julie Chu? She is a little old for you but I can definitely see it.” When Amanda doesn’t respond, Baylee marches forward. “Erika Lawler? Josephine Pucci? Kacey Bellamy?” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Is it Bozie? Do you have a crush on our captain?”

 

“Oh god.” Amanda says, burying her face in her hands and wishing for instant death. “No, it is not Bozie. Thank you for that. Ok, you cannot tell anyone this.” She turns her face up quickly to look at Baylee, causing her vision to swim for a second. “Do you understand?” She finally gets out.

 

Baylee makes a quick, cross your heart gesture. “Ok, it’s not a big thing or anything, but…Hilary Knight.”

 

Baylee, honest to god, squeals. “Hilary Knight! She is hot! And, of course, she is so fucking awesome out there.”

 

“I know.” Amanda says miserably, laying her head on the table.

 

“You two are going to have the most attractive, talented hockey children.” Baylee says.

 

“That’s not how it works.” Amanda says.

 

Baylee ignores Amanda completely. “So tell me about her!”

 

Amanda refuses. And she holds true to that for at least a full shot and half of her drink.

 

Baylee keeps at Amanda, trying to wear her down with alternate pleas and threats. Finally, Amanda can’t take it anymore and she finds herself explaining the long glances, the constant casual touches and worst of all, Hilary’s ability to always make Amanda laugh.  

 

“Wow.” Baylee says when Amanda finally pauses.

 

“I know.” Amanda says. “It’s the worst.” Baylee makes a sympathetic noise.

 

“And sometimes,” Amanda continues, the battle against slurring having long been lost forcing Baylee to lean in to understand Amanda. “She’ll give me this smile and it’s kind of like this smile that’s just between the two of us, as if we know something that no one else does. But then she’ll turn and do something else or keep looking around the room, so I can never fucking figure out if it’s actually a special smile or just this generic, I’m Hilary Knight and able to make everyone feel special smile.”

 

Baylee nods seriously.

 

“She’s totally the worst.” Amanda says seriously. “She’s so attractive and warm and she’ll put her arm over me when we do pictures and neither of us looks at each other, but all I can think about is her arm, so I can never pose right and then the pictures always turn out horrible.” The last part comes out louder than expected as more than a few of their fellow bar-goers turn to look at her.

 

Baylee laughs. “Alright, I think it’s time for us to head out.” She suggests, carefully pushing herself out of her seat.

 

Amanda wants to do the same, but the floor seems like quite a long distance away. Eventually Baylee makes her way over to Amanda and puts Amanda’s arm around Baylee’s shoulders in order to pull her up.

 

“You are the best friend ever.” Amanda tells Baylee seriously as Baylee directs the two of them towards the door. “Best ever. Although you’re not as hot as Hilary. Sorry!”

 

Baylee starts laughing again, which makes Amanda laugh and when the two of them dump themselves into one of the cabs waiting outside, they are still laughing so hard that Baylee has to repeat their address three times before the cab driver understands them.

 

 

 

Perhaps, it’s back even one more step.

 

 

 

Amanda keeps reminding herself to look like she’s done this before as she walks into the training center. Even though she’s been here once or twice before, everything in the building seems unfamiliar. There is supposed to be a check-in near the front, and she sees that there’s been a table set up, but there’s no one sitting at it.

 

Amanda checks her phone and sees that she’s a little early. Behind the table are taped up signs indicating the direction of the locker rooms and the conference room, but Amanda feels like she should probably wait to check in before she goes off in another direction. If possible, Amanda would prefer to not get lost prior to the introduction meeting. So, she drops her bag onto the ground and sits down on top of it.

 

She’s in the middle of playing a game on her phone when a girl that’s a few years older walks in, her bag hefted up on her shoulder and her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Jesus Christ, that’s Hilary Knight, Amanda realizes after a second. She instantly sits up taller.

 

“Anyone here?” Hilary asks. It takes Amanda a second to realize that she’s talking to Amanda.

 

“Oh—I got here a few minutes ago, but I haven’t seen anyone else since I got here.”

 

“The management is probably late again—they’re always late on the first day, they always seem to have some mix-up with the list or equipment. Who knows?” She gives a graceful shrug even with her hockey bag over one shoulder.

 

“I like to think that it’s kind of a tradition now. Do you want me to show you where the locker rooms are? It shouldn’t be a problem if we drop our stuff off now and then come back to check in. Plus, I’m going to see if I can talk the trainers into giving me some athletic tape.” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “I have the perfect prank to get back at Julie Chu from the worlds a few months ago.”

 

Hilary shoots an easy grin at Amanda and Amanda feels herself blush, her face probably turning bright red. She quickly stands up and grabs her bag so that she can follow Hilary into the locker rooms.

 

When Amanda reaches Hilary, Hilary holds out her hand. “I don’t think that we’ve met before—I’m Hilary.”

 

Amanda takes Hilary’s hand and shakes it firmly. As they shake, Amanda feels a little dazed, the skin to skin contact making her blush all over again.  
  
 “I’m Amanda.” She says after a beat, finally remembering how a handshake works.

 

They shake for a second longer than Amanda feels like is normal, but Amanda can’t seem to stop staring at Hilary. Even the mental reminder that she’s being weird doesn’t seem to dissuade her hand from continuing to hold onto Hilary’s. Hilary doesn’t seem to mind though, because she keeps on holding Amanda’s hand, a small smile on her lips.

 

Suddenly, there is the sound of several people walking in their direction and Hilary quickly drops Amanda’s hand and starts walking in the direction of the locker room. It’s awkwardly quiet for a moment but then Hilary clears her throat. “So, what kind of blade do you normally use?” She asks, gesturing down towards Amanda’s sticks.

 

Amanda quickly responds, but her nerves or the excitement of getting to participate in the selection camp must be getting to her, because she feels almost giddy every time she remembers the feeling of Hilary’s hand firmly enclosing her own.

 

 

 

A step forward:

 

 

 

When Amanda wakes up, the sunlight is streaming through the bedroom window. Hilary’s on her stomach and one of her arms is splayed across Amanda’s torso, holding Amanda close. Amanda shifts herself a little bit closer and Hilary gently nuzzles Amanda’s arm.

 

Amanda can tell that Hilary is somewhat awake from her breathing, but it’s more than nice to just lay there, eyes closed and partially dozing. At some point, Hilary wakes up a little bit more and presses a kiss on Amanda’s ribcage, right below Amanda’s breast, and Amanda involuntarily shivers.

 

“Hey there.” Hilary says, looking up at Amanda.

 

“Hey yourself.” Amanda says. Hilary leans up for a kiss and even though they both have morning breath, Amanda feels intoxicated, like she’s on a crazy endorphin rush. They make out lazily for a few minutes until Hilary looks over to check the clock next to Amanda’s bed.

 

“Eight o’clock? Shit!” She says. “Do you think any of your roommates will be up?” She climbs out of bed and starts grabbing her various items of clothing from where they had been dropped last night.

 

Amanda frowns. “Not at 8 a.m. on a day off of practice. Plus, I’m pretty sure that everyone was hammered last night at that club, even the girls under 21, so everyone will be sleeping off their hangovers.”

 

Hilary doesn’t seem to hear her. “Fuck—“ She turns towards Amanda. “Last night was—“ She’s hyperventilating and Amanda’s heart starts stammering as well.

 

“What’s going on?” Amanda says.

 

“I need to head out.” Hilary says, not meeting Amanda’s eyes once she has grabbed all of her stuff. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

 

“Wait—“ Amanda calls, but before she can even get out of bed, Hilary slips out the door, quietly and quickly.

 

Something hard and painful settles into Amanda’s stomach and she lays back in bed. She closes her eyes and tries to go to sleep, but the bed feels too cold and big now, that there’s something missing.

 

When Amanda finally gets herself out of her bed, she pours herself some cereal and parks herself in front of the TV. Around 11, Decks wanders out of her room into the kitchen.

 

“Hey—glad you got home ok.” Decks says when she settles next to Amanda on the couch. “You disappeared pretty early.”

 

“Yeah.” Amanda says. She wants to say that she left early because she hooked up with Hilary and that she thought that Hilary may have been into her, but then Hilary bolted this morning and now it looks like it was just a one night hook-up kind of thing. No big deal, obviously. Absolutely no reason for Amanda to check her phone every five seconds to see if Hilary is going to send her any texts. “I was just a little tired.” She says finally.

 

Decks nods. “I get that. You’ve got to stay healthy.”

 

 

After a few hours, it becomes clear that Hilary isn’t going to text or call and so Amanda finds herself looking to the next day’s practice with equal amounts of excitement (she’ll get to see Hilary and maybe Hilary just feels really uncertain as well right now) and fear (Hilary thinks it’s a huge mistake and will have to tell me that she doesn’t feel the same way about me).

 

But when they both show up for practice, Hilary won’t even meet Amanda’s eyes. Hilary laughs and jokes with the team the same that she always has, but she doesn’t look once straight at Amanda. And when they run lines together, Hilary plays professionally, but they just don’t click on the ice, both of them missing easy passes.

 

Amanda debates whether or not to approach Hilary after the practice, but she’s sending off such huge “don’t-talk-to-me” vibes that Amanda gives the idea up. A bunch of the team are going to see a movie, but Amanda’s not in the mood, so she prevails upon Decks to drop her off at their apartment where she proceeds to wallow for the rest of the day.

 

It doesn’t get any better after that. As the days pass, instead of getting over the awkward hump, Hilary continues to be distant with Amanda, both on the ice and off, until even Coach Stone notices.

 

“Come on, Kessel, Knight, get your asses into gear!” She yells after they fuck up a clear 2 on 1 breakaway.

 

When the practice ends, Coach Stone pulls Hilary and Amanda aside. “You two need to step up your game,” she says seriously. “You’re missing passes, messing up plays that both of you know. Remember, this is training camp and we’re here to both train as well as make roster cuts. I know that you two are very talented, but neither of your places are ever secure.”

 

Amanda immediately zips to attention. “Yes, Coach Stone.” She says seriously. Next to her, Hilary says the same thing. Coach Stone looks at them for a second more before she dismisses them with a curt nod.

 

In hallway to the locker room, Amanda looks over at Hilary who’s looking straight ahead, still not making eye contact. Amanda rolls her eyes, anger beginning to replace the unease and hurt. “Oh get over it, Knighter.” She says. “I’m not going to jump you here in the hallway.”

 

Before Hilary can respond, Amanda goes into the locker room and heads straight for the showers.

 

 

Amanda takes an extra-long shower and when she emerges, half of the team has already disappeared, including Decks and Bozie.

 

“Shit.” Amanda mutters. “Anyone know if Decks or Bozie are still here? I need a ride.”

 

“They wanted to grab lunch with some of the team, but I said I would drive you home.” Hilary says after a second from the corner.

 

Amanda wants to protest—right now, there is absolutely no one that she would less like to be in a small enclosed space with. But, if she makes a big deal about it in front of the other women, then it will definitely get back to Coach Stone. Not to mention that it would look really odd to all of the women on the team.

 

“Sure—that would be great. Thanks Knighter.” Amanda says.

 

 

The first part of the ride is absolutely quiet. Hilary makes no move to say anything, even though she opens her mouth a few times and keeps running her fingers through her hair, one of her nervous twitches. Amanda feels no compunction to help her out.

 

Finally, Hilary starts. “Look,” she says. “We’re teammates.”

 

“Really, I hadn’t noticed. I thought that you were on Team Canada.” For a moment, Amanda wishes that Hilary was on Canada’s team so that next time they met, Amanda could throw a punch at her, get it all out on the ice.

 

 They stop at a red and Hilary looks over at Amanda, making eye contact for the first time in days, maybe weeks.

 

Amanda tries to keep her expression immobile, but looking at Hilary makes something snap within her and it hurts so badly for a second. Hilary gives Amanda a sad smile and then rests one of her hands on top of Amanda’s, the contact feeling like the first good thing to happen to Amanda in days.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Amanda asks, the words tumbling out before she can stop herself. “There’s obviously something here.” It’s been years of held glances and small touches as they’ve danced around each other. Hilary’s face changes into something that looks like pity.

 

“Fuck you.” Amanda says, pulling her hand back and turning towards the window.

 

Hilary sighs. “Look, we have to think about the timing—we’re going to Sochi in three and a half months. Neither of us can afford to be distracted. And we have to think about the team dynamic—if we’re doing anything, it’s going to mess with our team dynamic.”

 

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Knighter,” Amanda spits out. “But it’s already fucked it up. So I guess you’re right there.”

 

Hilary doesn’t have anything to say in response, so they spend the rest of the ride in silence, and, in a reversal of recent habit, Amanda stares out the window the entire time, refusing to meet Hilary’s eyes.

 

 

They manage to pull themselves together for practices, but they don’t talk outside of practices, or team-related events and interviews. It hurts a little every time Amanda has to look at Hilary or they have to give an interview together, but she forces herself to be pleasant and polite. After all, Amanda refuses to be that girl who was sent home in 2009. She is going to make the team and if she has to get along with the jackass who goes by Hilary Knight to make sure that she’s on that final roster, then she will god damn get along.

 

 

In the middle of November, the team is running a series of special team drills. Amanda is playing on the PK unit as they kill the penalty. She’s trying to dig the puck out the boards so she can clear it when Pooch goes down hard behind her, accidentally swiping out Amanda’s legs from underneath her.

 

Something immediately twinges in her right thigh—it feels like her hamstring—and her mind goes blank as one of the trainers helps her off the ice.

 

The head trainer takes a look at Amanda’s leg and confirms Amanda’s fear—it’s most likely a pulled hamstring. They send her to the hospital where she spends the rest of the day getting various scans and tests which echo the initial finding. It's a grade 2 strain and the estimates are that she’ll be off ice for four weeks. At the very least, she’ll miss part of November and probably all of December before she's ready to play.

 

Coach Stone makes a point to come to the hospital when Amanda's tests are almost completed.

 

“Look, I know that you’re probably upset right now.” Coach Stone starts. Amanda tries hard not to roll her eyes. Upset is an understatement. “But I’ve talked with the trainers and they firmly believe that you’ll be back in action by the beginning of January. You’ve played incredibly well during this training camp—I want you to know that although nothing is set in stone, I believe that you’ll be on the final roster even though you won’t be able to play with the team between now and then.”

 

Amanda nods, not trusting herself to speak. It’s all good and fine for Coach Stone to say that now, but there’s no guarantee that someone else won’t step up in Amanda’s absence. That’s what people do in sports; they turn the unexpected spotlight into an opportunity to showcase their abilities. She would do the same exact thing.

 

Coach Stone gives her a pat on the shoulder and a nod before she heads out. Amanda robotically nods back, feeling almost too numb to respond any further.

 

One of the trainers drives her home that night and Amanda goes straight to her room, not even wanting to see Bozie or Decks or hear their condolences.

 

That night she calls up Phil and can’t help but start crying as she tells him the news. Phil listens patiently as she hacks it all out until her sobs have slowly died down into little hiccups.

 

“It’s going to be ok.” He says. “You will make the team.” Amanda makes a noise of disagreement. Phil changes his tone so that it’s no longer his big brother tone of voice and instead it’s the experienced NHL player voice.

 

“Look—you’re injured.” He starts. “You can’t change that. Right now, the coach says you’re going to make the team. There is absolutely nothing that you can do between now and healing to affect the determination either way. So you just have to take her at her word. You’re a talented player and hard worker, and at the end of the day, you just have to trust in that.”

 

Amanda nods. “You’re right. Thanks Phil.”

 

“No problem.” He says. “So who’s the girl that injured you? Do I need to take her down? Employ a little Kessel-style justice?”

 

Amanda laughs despite herself. “Ugh god. You’re such a dork. Well, I better go. I’ve got some serious wallowing and watching Real Housewives to do.”

 

“Alright, I’ll let you go. But keep me updated.” Phil says. Amanda promises to do so and she ends the conversation feeling a little calmer than she expected.

 

 

The next morning, around the time when she would be getting on the bus with all of the other women if she were going to the game up in Connecticut, she gets a flurry of texts after Coach Stone, presumably, breaks the news.

 

A little bit after the game is supposed to end, Amanda gets a text message from Hilary. _Can we talk?_ It reads. For a minute, Amanda is so angry that she almost can’t even see; she feels like she wants to slug someone on the ice or check someone hard into the boards. She is so angry that she can barely think coherently, her thoughts all running together into a jumble.

 

Hilary wants to talk now? Now, when Amanda’s injured and freaking out about making the team—and then suddenly, it hits her. Amanda does not have enough mental energy to care about everything all at once. And with the realization, her anger just…deflates.

 

There’s just no way for Amanda to be angry at Hilary, focus on healing her leg and rehabbing it while conditioning the rest of her body, and think about the Olympics. She’s here to make the Olympic team and she just doesn’t have time to worry about anything that’s not related to that goal.

 

So Amanda looks back at her phone and Hilary’s text. She’s not sure what Hilary wants to say—maybe that she just wants to be teammates and put their hook-up behind them, maybe that she just freaked out, or maybe that she just wants to tell Amanda to get better soon. Either way, it really doesn’t matter.

 

 _I think it’s a little late for that._ Amanda types out, unable to resist. _We both just need to act like professionals._

 

She hits send.

 

She can see Hilary typing from the other end for a couple minutes, but eventually all that Hilary sends back is _Ok_.

 

And even though it’s technically a victory and what she should be doing, Amanda can’t help but feel more than a little hollow inside.

 

 

 

And then it ends here:

 

 

 

After Amanda cleans herself up, they sneak back into the reception in honor of the official team roster. There are a bunch of Team USA bigwigs there and NBC network executives wandering around, so Amanda keeps her hands to herself. But Hilary keeps looking over and making eye contact, which makes them both spontaneously burst into laughter. The rest of the team is pretty giddy as well, the reality of the Olympics finally beginning to sink in, so no one notices. Or if they do, no one says anything.

 

At the end of the evening, Hilary, who’s been finding every opportunity to poke Hilary or playfully touch her, asks Amanda if she wants a ride home.

 

“Hell yes.” Amanda says. “I already told Bozie and Decks that I had to help you with something and you would give me a ride back. They think we’re going to prank Duggs by the way, so we should probably at least make an effort with respect to that.”

 

Hilary starts brainstorming out loud, throwing out more and more ridiculous ideas (put Duggs’ gear on the roof, switch out Duggs’ sheets at the next travel game with American flag themed ones, etc), and it’s easy and relaxing as they grab their coats and purses and head to Hilary’s car in the underground garage.

 

But when they get to the car, it’s all awkward silence again. They drive to Hilary’s apartment, about forty-five minutes away, with only the music playing faintly to get them through the ride. When they pull up outside of the house, Hilary turns off the engine but leaves the keys in the ignition and the music on. After a couple more seconds of silence, Amanda speaks up.

 

“That was a really shitty month and a half.” She says. Shitty is a complete understatement.

 

“I know.” Hilary says. “I just—ah—it was a lot for me.”

 

“And it was easy for me?” Amanda flashes back to the polite and stilted existence that they had had since Amanda’s injury and how even though she knew that Hilary had been a total asshole, Amanda couldn’t help but still want her. How much it had hurt to have to be around Hilary and know that it wasn’t going to happen.

 

“No, of course not. I just didn’t know how to deal—which is a me problem, not a you problem.” Amanda wants to say something along the lines of how Hilary’s her problem made it Amanda’s problem as well, but she forces herself to hold her tongue.

 

“It was like this.” Hilary continues. “I had this crush on  you, my younger teammate, one that I’d had for years, and then suddenly, in the middle of training camp, we hook up, a little more than a hundred days until Sochi, and I just became convinced that I had acted selfishly and fucked up our entire team’s chance to win. That I had let down not just you, but the team and the country. And it would all have been my fault. And I just couldn’t deal with that except by trying to pretend like it hadn’t happened.”

 

“Which turned out super great.”

 

“Yes, which, as we both can attest to, failed miserably. And then you got injured and I realized I was so stupid. But then, you didn’t want to talk to me, which I figured that I completely deserved and was well within your rights.”

 

The remaining anxiety and tension eases inside of Amanda. “It’s ok.” She says quietly.

 

“Hm?” Hilary asks.

 

“It’s ok.” She says louder. “I mean, I haven’t completely forgiven you—it was a really shitty thing to do—but it’s ok.” She holds her hand out. Hilary grabs Amanda’s hand and holds it for a second.

 

“Oh fuck it.” Hilary says and she unbuckles her seat belt and leans over the center divider until she’s embracing Amanda.

 

Amanda hugs her back and they sit there for a while, Amanda finally feeling at peace.

 

 

 

But, sometimes, the end is really just the beginning.

 

 

 

“This is going to be amazing!” Bri’s enthusiasm is palpable as they start boarding the chartered flight.

 

Amanda also can’t stand still; she’s bouncing on her toes slightly as she walks down the aisle. She sees an open row and slides into the window seat.

 

“Mind if I sit here?” Hilary asks, pointing at the aisle sea.

 

Amanda mock considers the question. “Hmm…I guess I’ll let you sit there. But you should know that I’m a demanding seat partner.”

 

Hilary laughs and puts her backpack underneath the seat before sliding in. “I’ll keep that in mind. You are pretty needy.”

 

As everyone else finds their seats and gets ready, Hilary holds out her hand and Amanda carefully splays her hand across Hilary’s. Hilary intertwines their fingers and gives Amanda a giddy look—the same one that Amanda is sure that is on her face as well. After a second, Amanda looks out the window to get one more glimpse of the US.

 

“Sochi—here we come.” She whispers to herself.

 


End file.
